Out of his Depth
by Kaeera
Summary: Sometimes, there are these kinds of rescues. The ones that just make you groan and wish that you'd never woken up in the morning. Not because they're dangerous, not because they're exhausting, but because they make you feel totally out of your depth...


**Disclaimer:** The Thunderbird Universe and all the characters I use in the story were created by Gerry Anderson and are now the property of Granada. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and no money is made with this fanfic.

Me being me, I had an idea for the fish-out-of-the-water-contest on TIWF _after_ it was over. Go figure. It's also another attempt at humour, thinking of a situation that even Scott would find hard to cope with.. And quite disgusting in some parts; but you'll notice that soon enough. Poor Scott.

My thanks to Pen for correcting my mistakes and suggesting the title.

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**Out of his Depth**  
by kaeera

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This is the shit day of all shit days. And I mean it literally. I am, after all, standing knee-deep in a massive pile of said substance, trying not to gag and add even _more_ disgusting matter to the existing pile.

I think swearing is quite appropriate in my current situation. This is nothing for people with a weak stomach. Actually, this is not a situation I wish on _anybody_ – not even Gordon, and it's a well-known fact how annoying he can be.

I, of course, have to bear it, because it's my job and I'm not as whiny as Alan; but that doesn't mean I have to _like_ it. Why couldn't this accident have happened in, oh, let's say a perfume factory? Or even better, a chocolate one? I definitely wouldn't have minded wading through chocolate. Might get a bit sticky after a while, but still the hell of an improvement compared to now. Hmm. Chocolate.

The sad thing is that I'm not hungry at all, even when I think of chocolate. It's that foul smell – makes me sick. One thing the years have taught me is that there's always a way to top a bad situation and make it even worse.

I thought I had the easy job, manning Mobile Control, but then Virgil's call came - "Scott, we need you, we can't reach some of them, they are trapped" - and before you know, I'm crawling through dirty sewers, trying to reach those unlucky souls. Unlucky because they will have to follow me out. Through the sewers. Yes, it'll be a very happy reunion. John is giving me directions from TB5, but even he can't change that fact that this place is what it is.

Honestly, how is it even possible to pile up so much sh...excrement in one space? Really! But then, I never thought it possible to put such a massive amount of cattle in a space as small as these buildings, penned up with no chance to move, standing in their own waste and leading a horrible life.

I'm going to change my opinion about steaks. If this is what those poor animals have to go through, I'm never going to eat one again. Though right now I feel as if I'll _never_ be able to eat again – my stomach hasn't stopped rolling and I think my taste buds have given up their struggle and fled the premises. Alas, taste buds. You and I share many happy memories. I'm going to miss you.

At least I understand now why those Animal Rights people were protesting. Dumb luck that the cattle place (or factory; it describes it better) chose that very moment to explode. Could have been an accident, could have been deliberate. Who cares? What's important are the dozens of workers and protesters that are now stuck.

"How is it going, Scott?" An amused voice cuts through my thoughts.

"It's going fine." I answer, ignoring the fact that my left foot is stuck on something I'd rather not think about. With a loud squelch, I rip it free and am enveloped by a disgusting smell as reward. I cough and wipe tears out of my eyes.

"Good to hear!" John laughs. He knows that nothing is fine. The nerve! I'd like to see him in my situation. He's nice and safe on Thunderbird Five. Where it doesn't smell. Or only sometimes, when Alan forgets to throw out old food. "Alan is almost done with his part. There are a few people caught in the offices, but that shouldn't be a problem."

"Nice." I point my torch ahead. What had the plan said? Twenty feet straight ahead and then a sharp turn left? Well, then I should...aha, there. The light illuminates a ladder pointing upwards. I sigh in relief. Finally. With wet, squelching sounds, I wade over and start climbing up.

"I'll leave you to your job then."

"Do that." I grumble. "You all owe me one."

"I'll give you a huge bottle of deodorant for your birthday!" John promised. "Thunderbird Five, out."

"Haha. Scott out."

I wonder how people manage to get stuck in the weirdest places. The room they had been caught in is in the lowest basement. Normally there is a door, but it has been blocked by a whole load of crates that crashed down during the explosion. Or whatever it was that happened here. They're not quite sure about that.

Anyway, the group of Animal Rights activist were separated, and a couple of them had the bad luck to be in the room behind the crates. With no escape except the sewer system that connects to almost everything. And that's when Alan called me in, asking whether I could reach them from the other side.

Sometimes it seems that we're short-staffed even with all the marvellous machines we own. The Mole wouldn't have fit, and while we could have cleared the rubble, it was much quicker to get using them the old-fashioned method. That way, the Mole could be used to save others.

I had expected sewers, but I hadn't expected this. But well, a cattle farm needs a proper waste system, doesn't it? I just never thought it would be quite like...this. Why don't they hose it down with some water? Or maybe they do, but the machinery doesn't work anymore. Just my luck. This day is just one of those, isn't it? This morning, the plumbing didn't work in my bathroom. Might have been a prophetic warning, if I believed in stuff like that. And then there was no milk left for breakfast. I tell you, a day that begins without milk is a bad day. I don't like my coffee black.

I almost slip on the ladder. If I had known that I would end up knee-deep in the end result of a cow's digestive process, well, then I would have worn a Hazmat suit. But International Rescue deals with everything. Right. I climb up the last step of the ladder and find myself in a dark, musty room. Not that I can smell anything beside myself, but it just _seems_ musty (hmm, I'm beginning to understand how a skunk feels).

"Anybody in here?" I ask into the darkness, wondering what kind of impression I must be making – smelling like the cloaca I waded through. My own nose has long ago stopped working and gone on strike for the unforeseeable future.

"Yes! We're here!" a voice calls back, filled with relief. There is a rustling sound. I point my flashlight in that direction and am rewarded with the sight of two dishevelled looking people. "Thank God! We thought we'd die in - oh my God, what is this smell?"

"International Rescue's perfume. We use it to ward off rabid fangirls," I reply in a dry tone. "Are you hurt?"

"No, we're fine."

I step closer. A man and a woman, about my age or a bit younger, both with brown hair and dark eyes. Wearing their Animal Rights T-Shirts and with their painted faces, they make a bit of a silly impression, but they fit in just right with smelly ol' me and my squelching boots.

"Well, if there's nothing keeping you here, we'd better make our way back," I say while lifting my wristcom. "John? I've found them. Both of them appear unharmed. Tell the others we're going to head back now."

"FAB", comes the reply. "Alan's almost done, but Gordon and Virgil still have some work to do. This place is a maze! And all those bloody cows make things difficult."

"Yeah, I can imagine that." Even underground, I can hear the sounds of distressed cattle. "It'll be nice to wrap this one up and fly home. Scott out."

"Thanks. You too. Thunderbird Five out."

I turn around only to see them holding their noses shut with their fingers. I glower at them – it's not nice to know that you are the reason why people are disgusted. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to get used to it. We will be going back the same way I came here – through the sewers."

They look at me with huge eyes. "We're going to smell like you?" The woman blurts out.

"You'll get used to it pretty quickly."

"But I don't want to get used to it!" she complains. But both follow me anyway. Well, think; smell bad or die? It's a choice most people don't even have to think about.

"Well, at least he's good looking", comes the whispered comment from behind me. I freeze, my eyes narrowing. Had I heard correctly?

Now, I don't want to sound arrogant, but I'm used to these kinds of comments. People tend to be very emotional when being rescued, and they regard their rescuers as some kind of heroes that take almost mythical proportions in their minds. Besides, neither my brothers nor myself are exactly ugly.

But this is the first time ever I heard that comment coming from a _man_.

"Sandro!" the woman hisses. "Behave!"

"Why? I'm just stating the truth!"

"I've got to admit that he's got a very nice butt, but that doesn't give you the right to talk about it in such a casual way. Remember, we're being rescued!"

I pause in the middle of climbing down the ladder. Did the fumes do something to my ears? Am I hearing things? I turn around to see the two grinning at me. And then – and yes, he's doing it, it's not a hallucination – the man gives me a wink. _Me_!

The woman notices my astonished gaze and chuckles. "Sorry. It's the relief, you know. Sandro and I can't help noticing beautiful things."

"That's nice," I say slowly. "But still we need to get out of here, so stop wasting time and climb down." I might have sounded a bit curt, but I found it eerie being stared at by a man.

Shaking my head, I climbed down, seeing the smelly, gloopy mess below. Well. Cleaning Thunderbird One would be a blast after this.

"See, now you hurt his feelings!" I hear the hissed conversation from above.

"Fran, please. He's a man and he belongs to International Rescue. I'm sure his feelings can take this."

"Stronger men have wilted under your wistful eye, Sandro."

"I know." Am I imagining it or is there a note of pride in his voice?

"You know, it's really annoying to have a brother that swings in the same direction as you." With those words, the woman – Fran, I gathered – jumps down and lands in the, well, pile of excrement I was complaining about earlier. Well. Those used to be whites sneakers.

She sinks in deep and flails around. Her face turns an interesting shade of green and then she doubles over, vomiting with heavy gasps. I gaze away, not wanting want to join her.

Sandro is the last and utters a pitiful sound as the brown yuck encloses his sneaker-clad feet, but he manages to retain his dignity and swallow the gag reflex. The guy even has the gall to smile and leer at me. I've never been leered at. Usually, I was the one doing the leering, back in my look-at-me-I'm-so-cool college days. It's an entirely new realm of experience, and one I'm not sure I want to dive into deeper.

So I turn around and point my flashlight ahead. "This way," I order. If in doubt, act professional. Works every time.

The two follow after Fran has finished wiping her mouth. "I'll never do any protests again," she groans.

"Oh, it's not that bad. At least we got a nice view." Sandro replies, and I can almost feel his gaze burning into my backside.

"I can appreciate that."

"What a pity that those trousers aren't tighter."

"And that the light is so bad."

Okay. That's enough. I turn around and glower at them. "Would you mind stop talking about my butt?"

"But it's such a nice butt!" they chorus.

"It's not an object to discuss!"

Sandro perks up. "What, we're allowed to touch it?"

"No!" How come they are so...happy after being rescued? Must be a result of the adrenaline. Endorphin can do funny things to your mind. But do I have to be the victim of their antics?

"You have to excuse my brother," Fran shakes her head. "Just because he's gay, he thinks that all other men are as well. Just ignore him. It'll pass."

I refrain from answering. I'm not going to get into this. I'm tired, I smell, and I really look forward to a shower. I almost sigh in relief when my wristcom crackles to life again. "Still okay down there?"

"Almost done," I reply, ploughing through the sewers with the single minded drive my brothers seem to find so amusing. "And ready to jump into the next lake."

"You sound a bit testy."

"Well," is my dark reply, "You wouldn't believe what kinds of comments I've been hearing."

"Oh come on, we're just being nice!" Sandro shouts from behind.

"Oh yes, you are being ogled at by two people!" Fran says cheerfully.

Virgil snickers. "Ohh, sounds interesting!"

"It is not!" Being ogled at is something I've always hated. And being ogled at by a man...well, is really, really disconcerting. Not that I have anything against homosexuals, it's just...well...I can't really understand them. I have seen my own backside in the mirror often enough, and I can't find anything remotely attractive about it. Yet take a female behind, or even better, a nice set of br...

I shake my head. Just because _I'm_ in the gutter, my mind doesn't have to take the same trip, too!

Just as I'm about to turn a corner – the last one before we reach the ladder that leads out of here – a hand lays on my shoulder. "Gee, don't be such a grumpy bear!" Fran smiles at me. "We didn't mean to offend. But my brother and I, well, we were pretty scared, and then you came and, no offence, but you smelled pretty bad, so I had to laugh, because...you know how you have to laugh when you're nervous? And now I'm so glad that we're being rescued, but the smell makes me want to puke, so I have to distract myself, and you happen to have a very _nice_ distracting backside..."

Do not forget the fact that this conversation was taking place while we were standing knee-deep in sh...manure. The human mind never stops boggling me. "It's alright." I smile, finally finding my way back into the calm- rescuer-self I'm used to. I would never admit it to anybody, but wading through a load or cra...faeces is a sure matter to displace your inner point of calm. Not that I ever had one. Come to think of it, is it possible to get high from the fumes? I should have taken a gas mask, but there wasn't time, and I honestly didn't expect this when I started...more like normal sewer tunnels, which would have been bad, but not that bad.

"Mr Rescuer, are you okay?"

I blink. Did I just drift off? No, I did not. Scott Tracy doesn't drift off. Pull yourself together!

I lengthen my stride. In front of me, something gleams in the darkness – the ladder, holied promise of freedom...Christ, I've got to stop thinking like this.

"We're almost there. There's the ladder," I say instead.

I wouldn't have thought it possible, but the three of us manage to wade even faster. As soon as we reach the ladder, I gesture them to go ahead. Fran does so, and her brother follows shortly after, wearing an expression of utter disgust. When it's my turn to climb up, I understand why. Since our boots are coated with the brown substance, the ladder steps are now as well – and I'm getting it all over my hands. Now, it's one thing to have the stuff on your feet; it's even worse on your hands. For one thing, it's closer to your face.

Yup. This place definitely deserves to be burned down.

We're in the basement I came in through. Mobile Control is not far away, just outside the building, far enough away so that it wouldn't be crushed if the structure falls down. The sound of the animals is incredible. I can hear hooves, frightened lowing, and people shouting orders over the noise. Add to that the hum of the machines, the noises of the cars, and the chaos is perfect.

"This place is disgusting!" Fran frowns, her cheerfulness forgotten. "How can anyone build such a thing? Did you see the cows? Poor things!"

"That's the reason why I've become a vegetarian," Sandro replies. "I wonder who caused the accident, though; it wasn't us. Do you have an idea, Mr. Rescuer?"

I turn around, glad that they seem to have come to their senses. It's much easier dealing with responsible adults than the lovestruck teenagers they resembled earlier.

"It's not out job to investigate," I reply instead. It's a response I've said so often that I don't even have to think about it. "We are here to save people."

"And that's very admirable." Sandro nods and then grins. "Say, are all of you such cuties?"

"Cuties?" I stare at him. "Me?"

"Sure. I would totally do you!" This isn't...my ears must be betraying me. I'm not hearing what I'm hearing, am I? Besides, I'm standing here, dripping unimaginable things on the floor. I decide that the best way is to ignore everything and turn around. "The others should be over there," I point ahead and start walking. Behind me, I can hear laughter – are they staring again? - but I manage not to turn around, thank you very much.

What a relief to see Mobile Control! Alan's already there, and I Virgil is not far behind him, manning the Mole. This is a first for Brain's invention – being used to herd a crazy amount of cattle. Though Virgil does an admirable job, I must say. Maybe he should have been born a cowboy.

Alan glances up from where he's standing, spots me...and starts grinning like a maniac. "Whoa, Scott!" he calls. "Look at you! It suits you!"

I glower at him. The nerve of little brothers..."It's all in the line of duty."

"Sure. But that smell! Honestly, Scott..."

I roll my eyes. "You know Alan, I'm soooo glad to see you!" With those words, I step closer, and before he can react, catch him in a bear hug. He yelps and tries to squirm away, but it's already too late. A large portion of the yuck on my uniform is now smeared on his, too – smelling like something died. Alan gags and glares.

"That's for laughing," I tell him cheerfully. Then I motion to my rescuees to follow; there's an ambulance not much further, and they still need to be checked. Besides, they might have a water hose there. Maybe I can ask the firemen to hose me down...actually, that's a good idea. I would hate to clean Thunderbird One's seat after sitting there like this.

Alan shouts a few curse words after me – oh, I didn't know that one before, very creative – but I simply smile. After all, you have to retain your dignity in some fashion when walking around covered in...well, you know.

"We do make a very dashing trio," Fran remarks, as we head into the direction of the ambulance. One of the ambulance worker sees us, wrinkles his nose and shouts some orders over his shoulder. "You know, I always imagined meeting one of the world's most famous heroes; but I never dreamt that it would happen this way."

I shrug. People often imagine meeting us, but those are only wistful fantasies. The images of us they have in our heads are nothing like reality. None of them would believe that Gordon planted a whoopee cushion under Alan's seat just yesterday. Or that Alan fed his pet alligator a tray full of blackberry jelly because he wanted to colour its teeth violet (it only made it sick).

"Oh, come on, don't be Mr. Stoic!" Fran pats on my shoulder. She's quite tall, almost as tall as me.

"Yeah, you can be Mr. Fantastic!" Sandro beams.

I raise both eyebrows. "I'd rather not." Then I spy a couple of firemen who are racing over with a hose. Since nothing is burning (yet), they can spare the men to help us. "Someone in the need of a shower?" the first one says, who is, much to my surprise, a woman.

"We'd love to!" I reply, grinning. And then the water is already running, fresh, clean, blissful water, washing away the stink and the yuck on our bodies. I almost close my eyes, and only the knowledge that the rescue is still going on lets me cut it as short as possible.

Dripping with water, but feeling cleaner that I have in hours, I walk back to Mobile Control. Alan is still there, fuming in my direction. I throw my nicest smile at him. "Let's wrap it up!"

With the others already having done most of the work, there's not much left for me to do. So I do what I usually do, coordinating and giving orders. Within the next thirty minutes, the premises are cleared, the cattle are somewhere safe and sound (even though we suspect that they're going to end up as hamburgers, anyway), and all the workers and activists are accounted for. No casualties, just the usual bout of injuries and the rather trying body odour of three, no, four people.

Boy, am I ever glad to wrap this one up! Even though most of the dirt has been hosed off me, I can still smell it (hell, I think the god-damn stuff has entered my pores and has settled down there permanently). I can smell it even now. And even if I couldn't, I would notice by the huge berth people make around me.

"Did your deodorant fail you?" A grinning face pops up close to me. Gordon, ready for everything.

"Gordon, no deodorant would have stood a chance against the stuff I was facing down there." I shudder at the memory. "This has the highest gross factor of anything I've ever seen, including that day in college when my room-mate threw up in his trombone while drunk, forgot all about it afterwards, and started playing later in the day."

"Yuck!" Gordon pulls a face.

"Exactly." I glance around the area. "So you'll probably understand that I want to leave as soon as possible."

"Sure." Another grin. "I'm going back to Virg, packing up the Mole."

"Do that."

Everything else goes smoothly. I inform father; I contact John; I converse with the local firemen; I shut down Mobile Control; and finally, it's time to leave. I'm just standing there with Gordon and Alan who've come out to help me with the final stuff (though I suspect that it's more for the sake of making fun of me).

It's then that two of the rescued victims come over to us. Only by the wide berth other people make around them, I recognise the two (at least I'm not the only one stuck with the smell). Fran marches straight toward me, beaming widely. "Mr. Rescuer, I just wanted to thank you again for what you did for us!" she beams.

Sandro nods behind her. "You did an admirable thing. Wading through heaps of shit for other people."

I glance at my brothers who regard the exchange with amusement. Hoping that the two siblings maintain their more...outgoing tendencies to themselves, I nod in what I hope is a polite fashion. "It's all in a day's work."

"For you it might, but not for us. So take our heartfelt thanks!"

"Just be more careful the next time you defend animals," I reply, turning around.

We're just walking off – me thinking that I was saved – when Sandro giggles. "Have a nice flight back, Mr. Fantastic!" he calls. "Watch out for that butt! And remember, if you ever switch sides, I'm here!"

I falter in my step. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the grin of my brothers. "Not a word," I warn, stalking away with as much dignity as I can muster. Which is, unfortunately, not very much.

"Of course not," Gordon grins, and the tone of his voice alone tells me that this is far from over. "Who would we be to disobey a order from Mr. Fantastic?"

"A Mr. Fantastic with such nice assets, I might add!" Alan snickers.

I sigh. Damn, the flight home is going to be a long one.

_**Fin.**_


End file.
